


Building Bridges

by kagseyamas



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King, It: Chapter Two (2019)
Genre: Blood and Gore, First Kiss, Homophobic Language, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Post Chapter-One, The Kissing Bridge (IT), r+e
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-12-14 09:53:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21013841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kagseyamas/pseuds/kagseyamas
Summary: It was shallow, he realized, that amidst the shit-storm of gore and violence and near-death, his worst nightmare remained the idea of his biggest secret getting out.Also known as: my take on what lead Richie to carving their initials on the bridge.





	Building Bridges

The thing was, Richie Tozier wasn’t scared of much. Well, he _hadn’t_ been, prior to that summer—the only frightening prospects within his reality were things like Henry Bowers’ pocketknife, or his parents finding out that he was flunking math. But then kids had started going missing—Bill’s kid brother had gone missing—and then there were other things to be afraid of; giant fucking spiders, for one. Mutilated bodies dragging their way through the sewers of Derry. Clowns.

It was shallow, he realized, that amidst the shit-storm of gore and violence and near-death, his worst nightmare remained the idea of his biggest secret getting out.

Richie had seen his own face on a ‘missing’ poster, had watched a killer clown crawl his way out of a photo projector and try to swallow them whole, but the thought of people knowing was what caused him to wake up in cold sweats, gasping and clawing at his chest, unable to even out his breathing for minutes afterwards.

The truth was, that over the course of the last year or so, Richie Tozier had become obsessed with boys. One might think that obsessed was mere hyperbole, however said person didn’t know that days passed where they were all he thought about, much like the rest of the boys in his grade, who only thought about which girls were growing breasts the fastest.

And of course he was ashamed—disgusted, even, each time those nauseating butterflies racked his stomach, and his throat closed, and his mouth started moving a mile a minute to compensate for the fact that his brain wasn’t working. But the thing was, his body seemed intent on betraying him by having the wrong wiring. Lord knows he’d tried staring at Beverly Marsh in her underwear and feeling something. And jacking off to the centrefold of a Playboy. And kissing Sadie Glauberman behind the bike shed, even though she was a total dog and only really seemed to be doing it because kissing someone behind the bike shed was something to brag to your friends about—

And then Charlie Bowers had brushed his hand in the arcade.

Or Luke Dobson would turn around in biology and tell him that his glasses were too thick (but with a smile that made Richie’s glasses fog up).

Or Eddie would forget, in a moment of stupidity, how much Richie actually irritated him, and cackle at one of his jokes. Eddie would be the only one to. Eddie didn’t know how much Richie hated him for that.

The thing was, homos were bashed on the streets of Derry every year. And that aside, homos were dying anyway, and everyone said that it was because God hated fags and wanted to wipe them out. Even Richie’s own dad (despite his general kindness in almost every aspect) said it at the dinner table. Richie would say it himself, if anyone asked.

But somehow, the clown knew. IT knew how much he thought about boys, and their eyes and their hair, and their smiles, and Eddie Kaspbrak’s eyes and hair and smile, and how isolating it was, to be the only one who knew, and how terrifying it would be for people to find out.

IT had made Luke Dobson turn around, with bleeding eyes, and call him a fruit in front of his entire biology class, although if you asked anyone else, he had merely asked to borrow a pen.

That summer, they’d held hands with bleeding palms, and Richie had felt so sick, because _wasn’t that how it spread? Would he kill his friends?_ And unable to provide an excuse as to why he wouldn’t, he had gripped Eddie’s small hand, eyeing the ‘LOVER’ on his cast, and then dropped it as soon as they were done.

“My mom’s gonna kill me,” Eddie rambled, on their way home, eyeing his wounded palm. They’d all gone their separate ways, which felt kind of symbolic and a little over-dramatic, considering how they would probably all see each other the next day anyway, bar Beverly. But Eddie was still huffing his empty inhaler like a crack addict, and Richie had caught up to him , wanting to make sure that Mrs. Kaspbrak didn’t _actually_ flay her son. “She’s gonna fucking annihilate me.”

“Not if I annihilate her first,” Richie said, quick as anything.

“Shut the fuck up, man, I’m serious.”

“I mean with my dick.”

“Yeah, I know what you meant, Richie, thank you. Seriously, thanks for that, I really wanna visualize you banging my mother who is 100% gonna kill me in about 20-minutes right now.”

Richie was silent, for a beat or two, and then his mouth was moving again.

“You could always lie about where you were, you know?. You’d probably get less shit for smoking pot behind the synagogue than you would for killing a child-eating clown.”

“Beep fucking beep, Richie.”

Richie clamped his mouth shut. If he were in Eddie’s position, he wouldn’t want to think about it either. They were walking so slowly, through the forest on the way to Eddie’s house, that he was certain they were going backwards. He decided to change the subject.

“Hey did you catch Bill mackin’ on Bev back there? What was that about?”

Eddie snorted. “Totally saw it coming.”

“I think I saw Bill coming.”

“Ew dude, that’s disgusting. And to be honest I don’t really wanna think about the implications.”

“What, the implications of Bill and Bev getting down and dirty in the woods?”

“Seriously, stop,” Eddie insisted, but his eyes were light, in a sort of fascinated disgust. He reminded Richie of the first time he’d seen roadkill on his way home from school—he’d felt sick to his stomach, and hadn’t been able to stop looking. “Even thinking about it is giving me an infection.”

“I thought you were done with imaginary infections,” Richie said, before it was too late to shut his mouth.

Eddie stopped walking and gave him a long look. Richie thought that it was worse, when Eddie didn’t retaliate. It was so, _so_ much worse.

“Sorry. Not funny,” Richie said, blinking at him. “Trash-mouth, remember? I don’t make decisions on what comes out of there.”

Eddie blinked at him, then rolled his eyes, and then kept walking. “You need to stop making excuses for yourself, asshole, that shit was super unnecessary.”

Richie trudged on behind him. “I said I was sorry!”

Eddie stopped, leaning against the wooden pillar of the bridge that connected the woods and the town. “Fine. Make it up to me.”

All Richie could hear was the rush of the river, and his pulse in his ears.

“…What?”

They were stopped at the Kissing Bridge. Why had they stopped here? Did Eddie even notice? Did Eddie even know it was called that?

“I wanna know something, and I want you to tell me the truth. No bullshit.” Eddie said, lifting his chin up to seem more sure of himself. Eddie did that, sometimes. “Why did you lie about being afraid of clowns?”

“What?” Richie said, frowning. “I _am_ afraid of clowns.”

Eddie blinked, once, twice, and then tried again. “Okay, I know everyone thinks they’re creepy, but you said they were your _worst fear_, and I’ve known you for years and you’ve never said anything about it, and remember that one time we went to that carnival—you weren’t that freaked out by them then!”

Richie’s skin buzzed. The only thing he remembered from that night was when the zombie in the scare-house had jumped out and Eddie had screamed and gripped his arm. And also when Stan threw up after the Tiltawhirl—that had been pretty good too.

Richie shrugged. “I dunno! It’s new, I guess?”

“New how?”

“Uhhh I dunno, Eds, new as in_ a clown tried to eat your face and now I’m afraid of clowns_?”

Eddie frowned. “Don’t call me that. And I said no bullshit, remember?”

“I don’t wanna talk about this anymore.”

“You can tell me, I won’t—”

“Beep beep, Eddie. End of discussion.”

He _hadn’t_ been lying, in a sense. He _was_ afraid of clowns. One clown in particular. One clown who knew his dirty little secret, and could have let any of his friends in on it at any given moment.

Richie passed him out as he trudged over the bridge. Eddie followed behind him, still yapping away.

“Like, why would someone even lie about that? What could you possibly be afraid of that’s worse than clowns?”

“Your mom breaking up with me.”

Eddie huffed a sigh. “I’m trying—”

Richie stopped in his tracks and swiveled around to face him. “What do you want me to say? Why does it matter so much, what my biggest fear is? IT’s _dead_, okay? It’s not like we have to worry about facing our fears anymore!”

Eddie frowned. “Yeah, well, I think we both know that’s not true.”

Richie stared down at him, his arms tightly folded across his chest. Eddie’s eyes were so big, and so earnest, and for a moment Richie forgot that it wasn’t socially acceptable to stare deeply into your friends’ eyes, on occasion. Eddie didn’t say a word, and Richie watched as his eyebrows unfurrowed, and then twitched into a raise, ever-so-slightly.

Christ. They were standing on the Kissing Bridge. Richie wondered what might happen, under different circumstances. In a different time, or place. If he was confident enough, or tactful, or attractive enough.

“I wanna tell you,” Richie choked out. “I do, I-I just can’t—”

There was a pitying look in Eddie’s eyes. “Why not?”

Richie’s hands were stuffed into his pockets, and then his knuckles were cracked, before he finally decided on shoving them under his armpits. Then he decided on putting them back in his pockets. This was getting too real. He was going to suffocate. He was going to do something stupid.

“Because,” Richie said, pushing up his glasses, “I knew you’d freak if you found out about me and your mother.” It wasn’t even one of his best. It sounded deflated, coming from him, like his heart wasn’t in it.

Eddie’s face dropped in disappointment, and he huffed with a scowl.

“Can you take things seriously for once—”

Richie could have done anything to stop this conversation from happening. He could have laughed at the expression on Eddie’s face, slapped him on the back and continued walking. He could have apologised and changed the subject. Hell, he could have sprinted away at top speed without a single other word, and risked looking like a total lunatic.

Instead, he leaned down and pressed a short but firm kiss to Eddie’s lips. It wasn’t magical; it lasted for like two seconds, tops, and all he could focus on was the massacre of butterflies in his stomach, and the way Eddie had gone rigid against him, frozen. But for those two seconds, he was able to pretend that they were just like any other normal couple on the Kissing Bridge.

As soon as it was over, he straightened his back like the snap of a rubber band, his face burning and his eyes wide and glued to his shoes. They were pretty muddy; he wouldn’t be allowed into the house with them. He didn’t dare look up, for fear of seeing the horrified—no, _disgusted_ look on Eddie’s face.

After all, why _wouldn’t_ he be disgusted? _Richie_ was disgusted. And stupid. And a fucking homo. There was no use in denying it now.

When he clenched his fists, the wound on his hand burned. “Does that answer your question?” he asked, fighting to keep his voice from breaking.

“Not really,” came the quiet response.

Richie dared a glance at him, not finding disgust, but a pair of dark brown eyes that were larger than usual, and that was saying something.

“That was my first kiss,” Eddie said.

“Sorry,” Richie responded, dumbly. “I should go.”

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Eddie asked.

“I really don’t,” Richie said, which was maybe the first time he had ever declined an opportunity to talk. “I, uh, gotta go, but good luck with your mom. Tell her I’ll see her tonight.”

Eddie didn’t respond, only watched him race on ahead. Once Richie was out of sight he slowed to a walk and blinked back tears as he evened his breath. Eddie’s lips had been so soft, and he had no doubt that it was because his mom made him wear SPF 15 lip balm, along with his sunblock. It was so unfair that one, tiny kiss had made his head spin, when all kissing Sadie Glauberman had done was make him wonder when the lunch bell was going to go.

They didn’t talk about it, but one day, on an impulse, Richie used his pocketknife to carve their initials into the aged wood of the Kissing Bridge. Pretended that it was because they were a regular couple, cementing what they had done there, forever. Wondered that when others saw it, if they would think it belonged to a pair of smitten high school kids. Hoped that if Eddie ever saw it when he passed, he would think of that kiss, and maybe forgive him for it.

**Author's Note:**

> this was sitting in my drafts literally since the movie premiered, and it isnt very good so i wasnt gonna post it, but here we are i guess. hope yall enjoyed!


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